You. The one reading this right now. I’d imagine you’ve experienced, at least once, the breathtaking sting of a broken heart.

Whether it be lost love, lost life, lost dreams.

No one ever warned me about how painful life can be.

The oblivion of my childhood years blinded me from the possibility of experiencing real pain.

Nothing was ever broken. My home was filled with love, constant support, and always good food. It was a paradise.

I sat awake at night in my bright pink bedroom worrying that the cute boy with a crooked smile and freckled nose would never try to hold my hand under the lunch table.

I was 11 years old. That was my pain.

But, with age, I gained perspective.

Like most adults, I look back and laugh at the now trivial things that brought me so much anxiety as a child.

But now, since those years of living with my head in the clouds, I have experienced pain. The real kind. I am sure of it.

I look back at the worst days and still recognize that they were the worst. I don’t laugh at them or kick myself for staying up at night worrying about it.

A life was lost. A love was lost. And a piece of my heart went with them, too.

Because of that, I don’t believe I will ever be healed.

The loss is permanent. The cuts are deep. The memories of those days still give me chills on the hottest August day.

But, I’ll tell you one thing. I am healing every single day. There are some days where the pain is dull, like the kind of headache you notice, but can work through.

Most days are like that, with the exception of the few. The few where I can’t breathe because the pain has worked its way back into my spirit. But over the years, I have cultivated new ways of channeling the many levels of my heartbreak and sorting through them like laundry.

I learned that I was fully capable of taking my experiences and placing them into my life where they fit.

You see, experiences aren’t singular moments that come and go. They join you on your journey and push your personal growth to new levels. For better or worse.

I just had to make the decision that even my ugliest experiences were going to shape me in a beautiful way (that is, after I had some trial and error with some rather not-so-beautiful ways).

The point is, I had control of what I did next. I experienced some real shit that I would be stuck with forever. So, I had to make it work if I wanted to find a way to lead my happiest life.

As I grew and explored how these emotions were going to add value to my life even in a small way, things started to get better.

On most days, I can keep the darkest thoughts at bay as I find ways for the memories to illuminate beauty in my present time. And it’s always there. There’s always something beautiful. Something good. Even when the sadness is ready to spill over the brim.

That’s how I’m healing. It’s a long and arduous process. Every single day. I’m choosing life. I’m choosing myself.

But, will I ever heal? I don’t think so. I don’t think there will ever be a time where the sight of a mother zipping up her daughter’s wedding dress won’t feel like a knife to the heart.

That’s something I will never have, among many other things. That will always hurt.

I may never be healed, but can any of us ever be? When we’ve been touched by the realities of heartbreak, it stays. Even if we aren’t being torn down daily because of it, it still sits there. Waiting in the curtains to remind us if its presence.

The wound may not be openly seen, but there’s that scar. It’s tiny, almost invisible to the average eye. But it’s a reminder that something was amiss at one point. We all have them.

But, you. The one who is healing, but still hurting. Just keep healing. Keep trying. That’s what I’m doing.